The morning sun spilled over the thatched roofs of Eldervale, painting the village in shades of gold and amber. Smoke from hearth fires rose lazily into the sky, carrying the scent of fresh bread and burning oak. To most, it was just another day of harvest and laughter, of gathering water from the well and tending to fields.But to Arden, every sunrise was a reminder that he was not alone inside his own skin. For five years, a voice had lived within him, sometimes silent, sometimes whispering hunger. Today, the whisper was louder."Blood… just a little taste…" His grip tightened on the wooden bucket he carried, knuckles whitening as he forced himself to breathe. He was on his way to the river, just as any teenager in Eldervale might do, but his mind was not calm. He paused at the edge of the path, eyes scanning the trees. For a moment, the world seemed sharper: the rustle of wings above, the heartbeat of a rabbit hiding in the underbrush, the faint pulse of life in every villag

The deeper they pressed into the woods, the more the forest seemed to swallow them whole. The light of the torches barely reached beyond the trunks, their flames trembling against the pressing dark. Every step felt wrong, as though the earth itself resented their intrusion.Arden walked near the front, his hand tight on the hilt of his blade. The demon inside him stirred, restless. "You feel it too, don't you? This place reeks of blood and fear. Just let me out, I'll show you what hunts here."He clenched his jaw, forcing the voice aside.Maya, walking beside him, glanced up. "You're tense," she whispered."I'm fine," he muttered, but even to his own ears, the words rang hollow. A sudden snap echoed through the undergrowth. The group froze, weapons raised. Only silence followed, thick and suffocating. The torches crackled, their flames casting nervous shadows."Probably just a deer," one of the hunters said, though his voice shook.They pressed on. After some time, the path opene

The village square was alive with murmurs, though the sun had barely risen. Smoke from hearth fires mingled with the scent of damp earth, but it did little to calm the unease in Eldervale.Hunters leaned against carts, nursing bruises and cuts, while villagers pressed close, eager for news. Every tale was louder than the last: the beasts, the shadows, the red eyes that burned in the darkness.Arden kept his hood low, walking at the edge of the crowd. Every whispered glance felt like a knife. He could hear his name muttered more than once, always with a tinge of fear. "They say he froze out there," a woman whispered to her neighbor."Didn't he hear them coming?""Some say the boy is… marked. That forest never lets its victims go."Arden's hands clenched at his sides. Marked… The word felt heavier than any wound he'd carried from the beasts themselves.The council of elders gathered at the square's center. Elder Bran's voice cut through the chatter, commanding attention. "We must p

The morning sun spilled weakly through the wooden shutters of Arden's home, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The air felt thick, heavy with worry, as if the house itself were holding its breath.Arden sat at the edge of the wooden table, hands folded tightly, trying not to meet the eyes of his mother and his two youngest sisters, Fira and Leina."Arden," his mother began softly, her voice trembling, "you can't stay here. Not after… everything. The villagers… they see you differently now. You need to leave for your safety, for theirs." Arden's gaze lifted, steady and unwavering. "No. I won't leave. This is my home. The people here… my family… I can't abandon them just because they fear me."Fira's tender hands clutched his sleeve, trembling. "But… but you could get hurt! What if something happens?""I know the risks," Arden said quietly, bending down to meet her gaze. "And I accept them. Running won't help anyone. I won't let fear dictate my choices."Leina hid he

The hut was heavy with silence, broken only by the creak of the floorboards as Maya and Cyril stepped inside. Their eyes swept over the splintered table and blackened boards, but their attention quickly returned to Arden.He sat hunched on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling despite how tightly he clenched them. His mother lingered at the doorway, her face drawn with worry, but she didn't speak. This was a truth that needed to be told not by her, but by him.Maya's voice was gentle. "Arden… please. Tell us what happened."He lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed from a night without rest. For a moment, he hesitated. What if they looked at him the way the villagers did? With fear, with disgust? But Maya's gaze was steady, and Cyril's, though sharper and more suspicious, was waiting. So he told them."The voices," he began, his voice hoarse, "they've never stopped since that day, when I was fourteen. At first, they were whispers easy enough to ignore. But lately… they've grown lo